Chapter 3

Scarlett's POV

One hundred thousand in my account gave me confidence, but the pain in my chest was a constant reminder that time was running out. I needed to move faster.

I found him at his favorite spot—the private golf club in the Hamptons. Wearing a simple white golf outfit, I walked into the clubhouse with steady steps, even though my heart was screaming in protest.

"Scarlett?" The moment Sebastian saw me, panic flashed across his face before he quickly plastered on a concerned smile. "What are you doing here? I heard you were..."

"Heard I was what?" I sat down across from him and placed a file on the table. "That I'd lost my mind? Or that I was broke?"

His smile froze.

"I'm here to catch up with an old friend. And discuss some business." I opened the folder, revealing every piece of evidence of his embezzlement from the family fund. "One hundred fifty thousand. Transfer it now."

My tone was as casual as discussing the weather.

Sebastian's face went white. "Scarlett, this is all a misunderstanding..."

"A misunderstanding?" I pointed to the numbers in the file. "You stealing from the foundation to invest in real estate—that's a misunderstanding?"

"I... I was always planning to pay it back, I swear." He fumbled for his phone, hands shaking. "I'll transfer it right now. Of course, of course, I always wanted to help you..."

But I noticed something. His phone was this year's latest model, and he was wearing a limited edition Patek Philippe. Before my family went bankrupt, he could never afford toys like these.

"Come into some money recently?" I asked deliberately.

"Oh, just... lucky with some investments." He avoided my eyes, fingers flying across his phone screen.

The transfer notification chimed.

I closed the file and stood. "Thanks for your cooperation, Sebastian."

We walked toward the parking lot together, Sebastian rambling some explanation. But suddenly everything went black and I nearly collapsed, grabbing a nearby golf club to stay upright.

"Scarlett!" Sebastian rushed to steady me. "Are you okay? I know you've been through hell these past few years. You really could have come to me for help, you know."

I shook off his hands.

"Don't need it. Your 'help' costs too much." My voice was ice.

These years had shown me exactly what this elite circle was made of. When you had money, everyone orbited around you. The second you fell, they scattered like roaches. When I needed help most, not one of them lifted a finger.

Now they wanted to make amends? Too fucking late.

I got into a taxi and had barely given the address when my phone buzzed.

Anonymous text: "Stop digging. You're running out of time."

I immediately looked back through the window. Sebastian was standing by the clubhouse entrance, watching my car. I couldn't make out his expression, but something about it felt... off.

"Who the hell wants me to disappear?" I wondered.

That evening: the MET charity gala.

I'd rented a black evening gown—beautiful fabric, but the price made me wince. Still, for tonight's target, it was worth it.

Target: my lawyer friend Thomas Miller.

"Scarlett?" He looked deeply uncomfortable when he spotted me. "Are you... how are you holding up?"

I slid into the seat next to him. "Not great, which is why I need your help."

"What kind of help?"

I pulled out another file. "One hundred thousan, or I tell your wife about your Cayman Islands account."

Thomas nearly dropped his wine glass. "How did you..."

"I know a lot of things, Thomas. Make the transfer."

His hands shook as he reached for his phone. Five minutes later, another one hundred thousand hit my account.

"Thanks for your cooperation." I started to leave.

But then I spotted a paparazzi photographer shooting me from across the room, his lens focused on my gaunt appearance.

"Shit," I muttered.

Before I could react, two security guards appeared out of nowhere and confiscated the camera.

The photographer was escorted out, and nobody dared say a word.

I returned to my seat, mind racing. Who would send people to protect me?

There was a bottle of heart medication on the table now, no note attached.

"Nathaniel..." I whispered.

He was the only one who knew about my condition, the only one with that kind of pull.

I checked my phone: account balance $350,000.

In the taxi home, I leaned back and watched the city lights blur past.

My phone buzzed again.

Another anonymous text: "You think you're getting revenge? You have no idea what really happened."

I called the number back immediately. Disconnected.

That was the second threatening text today. Someone didn't want me to continue, but why?

I thought about Sebastian's nervous reaction earlier. From his expression, he seemed to know something I didn't.

"Why does everyone keep saying I don't know the truth?"

The car stopped outside my apartment building. I looked up at my dark windows and felt afraid for the first time.

Not afraid of dying, but afraid that I'd been played this whole time and had almost chosen suicide while still in the dark.

One more step and the real killer would have won.

But I was still alive, which meant there was still a chance to turn this around.